Lessons My Family & the FBI Taught Me Part II
by lynw21
Summary: Mark is about to learn the next part of his lesson.
1. Chapter 1

Okay I finally got this one semi complete. I'm still working on a few glitches. I want to thank Cheri again for being the beta. I think I need to pay her for all the aggravation here. I received a great deal of help with the location of Pat's Island (actually we had a vote on it which turned into a lot of fun) and some other really great help (thank you, thank you!) Anyway here we go again:

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6 months later

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Lessons My Family & the FBI Taught Me Part II

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The crack of the gavel brought the murmurs of the courtroom to an instant halt. The Honorable Judge Harold Wenrick went about the business of dismissing the jury. The murmurs began again; Attorney Mark McCormick had pulled off a Friday miracle.

The news media had been following this trial closely. Quincy Reeder was miraculously free to walk out of the courtroom after being acquitted of armed robbery charges. He was arrested and formally charged after a witness of a liquor store robbery picked him from a line up.

McCormick had swayed the jury with testimony of another suspect's similarities from a robbery, which occurred while Quincy Reeder was incarcerated, awaiting his trial, leaving reasonable doubt in the jury's mind of his guilt. The news media had thought the fairly new attorney crazy and inexperienced, when he had requested that his client be included in the new line up for the similar robbery. Surprisingly enough, the witness to the second robbery also picked Quincy Reeder out of the line up.

McCormick then convinced the jury that his client was suffering a case of mistaken identity; the strategy worked. Milton Hardcastle slowly made his way from the court room audience to the defense attorney's table, as McCormick finished packing his brief case. Mark shook the hand of a stunned Quincy Reeder and turned to face Hardcastle.

"I don't believe you pulled that one off; I figured it was going to backfire on you from the beginning," Hardcase snapped gruffly. "Of course, I would've never let you get away with some of that stuff in my courtroom."

"I wouldn't have tried the same tactics in your courtroom," grinned McCormick.

"Well, you got lucky this time, you better not let your head swell too much," warned Hardcastle. "Come on, we got to get through these reporters and junior ambulance chasers, before your head won't fit through the door," he grumbled, as he led the way through the mass of people.

The two slowly made their way through the throng of reporters in the lobby, who were all vying to get an exclusive statement from the brilliant attorney and his esteemed colleague. Mark stopped to make a few brief comments. Hardcastle shook his head when a few reporters approached him for a comment, instead he steered the reporters to McCormick stating the case and win were his.

_Wow I'm surprised he would even admit that. Well actually, he did teach you almost everything you know. At least the legal parameters, you're just applying some San Quentin school of hard knock philosophies, which leaves a very unique combination._

Waiting impatiently near the exit of the courthouse was Lieutenant Frank Harper, he motioned to them; Hardcastle and McCormick both acknowledged him and followed. Once outside, Frank shook Mark's hand and congratulated him.

"You and Claudia are coming over to the house for steaks on the grill ala Hardcastle aren't you?" Mark asked.

"Sure; wouldn't miss this celebration, especially when Milt is footing the bill," smirked Frank.

"Oh, he wins the case, and I get to foot the bill for the food," grumbled Hardcastle.

"Now come on, Milt, this is the first case Mark took totally by himself and brought it to a successful verdict. You got to pat him on the back every once and a while, for a job well done," Frank added.

"Well, he didn't do too awful bad, but Judge Wenrick is just a pushover for these new snotty attorneys that try something new and unheard of in his courtroom. He just doesn't know what to do with them and loses all perspective," snarled Hardcastle.

"New snotty attorney, huh?" choked Mark. "Is that what you think . . . that I just confused the judge, and didn't win this case on its merits?"

"_Well, I didn't exactly say that_," answered Hardcastle, backpedaling slightly.

"What exactly were you trying to say then?" Mark snapped.

"Now you two stop it; you are attracting the reporters again," interrupted Frank. "I don't think you guys really want to debate this on the courthouse steps, do you?" He asked, as he looked around to see who was close enough to overhear their conversation. "Besides, Milt, whether you want to admit it or not, you were proud as a papa in there. You were grinning from ear to ear when that verdict was read. Although, you will never admit it to Mark here; God forbid he ever thinks that you're actually proud of his accomplishments."

Milt looked a little embarrassed at Frank's admonishment.

"Oh come on, we're wasting time standing here lollygagging, I gotta get home and get the grill ready for the steaks, you know," Milt snapped gruffly, as he made his way down the courthouse steps.

Frank grinned, slapped Mark on the shoulder and added, "You know, he'll never admit it, but he is really proud of you."

"But just once, I would actually like to hear him say it, just one time . . . would it kill him? . . . to admit that I can do something right?" Mark added, sounding frustrated.

"Mark, you know him better than anybody, and you know through all the things he has done for you, that he is acknowledging it . . . just in his own way," Frank softly added.

"I know the man has done more for me than I can ever repay. Heck, I'm still sponging off of him, living in his house. But I just don't feel right leaving him alone, you know . . . but he still could give me a 'you done good' every once in a while," Mark appeared to be talking more to himself than to Frank.

Frank smiled and slapped him on the shoulder, "Come on, he'll leave without you."

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The ride home in the truck was quiet. Mark concentrated on his driving, as Milt stared out the window at the passing scenery.

_I guess I should tell him, how proud I am of him. He did do an excellent job. Heck, you almost punched that reporter, after McCormick's opening remarks for the trial last week, when the reporter suggested that you'd better pull McCormick out of the ring and replace him, until after he dried behind the ears, or risk looking like a legal laughing stock. He's gonna make a lot of headlines for the new law clinic with this one. He's proven himself over and over, and you still want more from him, why? _

"Hey, do we need to stop anywhere and get anything for the dinner tonight?" asked McCormick, finally breaking the silence.

"Nope, got everything at home that we need," added Hardcastle.

"Are you sure, it would just take a second, do we need beer or anything?" questioned Mark.

"Now what did I just tell you, if you would just learn to listen once," grated Hardcastle.

"Okay, sorry, you're right," Mark softly added.

_Okay, why are you taking it out on him? You're mad at yourself, for not being able to acknowledge how far he has come. He really has become a true partner and friend, and to think you started that whole indefinite custody business, by saying you didn't want to be buddies. Well, that's exactly what he has become, maybe even as close as family, something that he has never really had the pleasure of having for very long. _

The rest of the trip home was made in silence. Each lost in their own thoughts.

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Mattie had arrived fashionably early, with a bottle of champagne to chill. Frank and Claudia arrived with a chocolate cake with peanut butter frosting, Mark's favorite, for dessert. Milt prepared the steaks to everyone's preferences. Mark had made baked potatoes and salad to accompany them. The beer was abundant and cold as they sat down on the patio.

Their celebratory dinner progressed with a relaxed carefree atmosphere; unfortunately the doorbell rang and interrupted them. Hardcastle looked at Mark, who jumped to his feet and jogged to the front of the house. A UPS deliveryman stood on the doorstep.

"I have a package for Mr. Mark McCormick," stated the man in brown.

"That's me," Mark answered.

The delivery man handed him a clipboard and pointed to the area where he should sign, indicating he received the package. Afterward, he handed Mark a large padded envelope. Mark studied the front panel; the typed name and address, and the postmark indicated the package originated from the Isle de San Pietro. He belatedly thanked the delivery man, who was already climbing back into his truck.

_I wonder what it is. It has to be from Uncle Pat. He never told me where he was going, but the Isle de San Pietro would actually make sense. I think it would be difficult to extradite someone from there. Actually, now that I think about it, I don't think they have an extradition treaty with the United States. _

Mark opened the envelope, as he slowly made his way back to the patio. The dinner conversation stopped, when Mark came to a halt at the side of the table deep in thought. Inside the envelope was an enlarged reprint of a black and white photograph. There were no markings on the back of the photo, or inside the envelope, no letter, no explanation. The photograph was of a woman, probably in her late fifties, from her dress, the photo was taken approximately thirty years ago. Mark stared at the photo, there was something oddly familiar about the woman, but he couldn't put a finger on why.

"Something wrong, McCormick?" Hardcastle questioned as he rose from the table.

"Someone sent me a photograph," Mark explained. "But there's no letter, no explanation, no return address."

Milt walked around the table to look over Mark's shoulder at the photo.

"I think it's from my Uncle Pat, but I have no idea who it is," Mark pondered.

"This is gonna stir up the FBI again, remember how much of a problem we had the last time? You know they gotta be watching to see if he has any contact with you," Hardcastle added.

"He's my client, remember; they can't touch me," Mark spat out, remembering all too well the interrogations, the strip search, and the time spent in a cell before Hardcastle and Frank came to the rescue.

"And you know as well as I do that, they will still be trying to get you to tell them something . . . anything. Pat made a fool of them way too often; they'll try just about anything to get a hold of him. And if they have to go through you to do it, they aren't gonna care," Hardcastle explained to his protégé.

Mattie, Frank, and Claudia listened quietly. Finally Frank spoke up in an attempt to deflect the conversation, "Why don't you guys sit down and enjoy your meals before they're stone cold. Mattie, let's open that bottle of bubbly, don't you have a toast to get out of the way?"

Mark looked guiltily at their guests, and with an embarrassed smile, regained his seat.

"Actually I do . . . Milt, if you'll do me the honor," as she handed him the bottle of champagne.

A resounding pop was heard. They cheered. Glasses were filled and raised, as Mattie rose to her feet. "To a brilliant attorney, who won his first major trial today." The glasses clinked together as everyone took a sip of the bubbling champagne.

"Thank you, how did I get so lucky to be included in this group?" Mark exclaimed, grinning from ear to ear.

"I think Milt might have had something to do with it, what . . . I'm not quite sure," whimsically pondered Mattie. This gained a resounding chuckle from all the members of the table.

Mark tried to hide his anxiety and remain attentive to the banter exchange of his friends. He attempted to push the thoughts of the anonymous package and photograph to the back of his mind, but there was an insistent gnawing and nagging. He knew that Hardcase was already upset about the package, any mention of his uncle usually ended with an argument and lecture. He would become even more irate if he had any indication that Mark intended to pursue the package further.

Hardcastle was slyly watching McCormick out of the corner of his eye, without making it too obvious to everyone at the table. He soon realized that Frank had also become quite aware of his interest, and was distracting the others from their moments of inattention.

Although he was covering well, Mark couldn't seem to stop himself from pondering the strange package and photograph. As the evening wore on, Frank could see that Mark's momentary lapses were starting to have a dominant effect on Hardcastle's reactions.

The evening drew to an end and their guests filtered to their cars and went home. Mark cleaned up the dishes and told the judge he was heading to bed. Milt watched from the kitchen window until the lights of the gatehouse were turned off.

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Please review and let me know if I should continue this or if I'm boring you to tears ----- thanks, Lyn


	2. Chapter 2

Okay, I think I got threatened with bodily injury here.

I'm just joking, but I am glad to hear you like it so far. I was actually working on the next part too many errors. At least I got someone interested in the story, anyway! But hey just wanted to make sure I wasn't boring any of you to death with this hokey storyline that keeps popping up in my head. Again, many, many thanks to Cheri for trying to lead me in the right direction, I know I'm difficult at best, thank you.

Hope you guys enjoy, I'm putting the story all up tonight, all complete: 8 chapters. Please be honest and let me know what you think, hopefully I'll keep some of your attention to the end.

Thanks,

Lyn

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The next week seemed to progress slowly. Hardcastle had attempted to nonchalantly bring up the package, the photograph, and even Pat Martinelli at one point, but McCormick wasn't having anything to do with it. Instead, Mark threw himself into his work; a case which was approaching a trial date, the jury selection period was drawing near, and preparation had to be made. Mark even sidelined the judge, when he asked advice on different tactics for picking the jury when Hardcastle had attempted to broach the subject of uncle Pat.

"You're the one who's always telling me that I need to concentrate on the important parts of life. I have a job to do and I have to do it right or someone innocent suffers. This one is going to be a slam dunk, I'm not dropping the ball," Mark offered as his reasoning.

Each night, Hardcastle watched as the lights went off in the gatehouse. Then, he would slowly make his way upstairs to his bedroom. Maybe he was wrong, maybe McCormick had finally grown up, he had thought that McCormick was chomping at the bit to find out about the photograph and was just trying to hide his feelings with the work-a-holic act.

On Sunday evening Hardcastle again watched the light go out and made his way to bed. Tonight was to be the exception, after an hour or so, his suspicions were confirmed; he heard McCormick's car take off down the Pacific Coast Highway.

_That son of a bitch, he lured me into a sense of security and figured I was asleep._

Mark had done just that; he waited until Hardcastle had gone to bed. He gave him an hour or so to fall asleep, then drifted the Coyote down the drive, started the engine at the bottom and took off down the highway at a high rate of speed.

If anyone was going to try to follow him, he was going to give them a run. He was not sure whether the FBI was still watching him. He jacked the Coyote up another gear and hit a conservative sixty cruising down the PCH, as traffic was almost non-existent at this time of the night. He headed southeast towards Santa Monica, and then took an off ramp from CA 1, to I 10. Once on the Interstate, he topped the Coyote at a hundred for a few minutes.

He kept looking in the rear view, to make sure there were no attempts to tail him and to be warned if he stirred up a police cruiser. After ten minutes, he slowed and took an illegal emergency cross-over and headed back the direction he had come from.

He held the Coyote to the speed limit; down the highway he took an off ramp into the streets of Santa Monica. He then took multiple turns and side streets, to end up at a bar called "Ryan's." He had been in the bar once before, several years ago, after an argument with Hardcase, and felt the need to get away and cut loose.

He entered the dimly lit establishment and surveyed the inside while walking up to the bar; he ordered a beer from the bartender, then headed toward the back where the bathrooms were located. On the wall in the hallway leading to the bathrooms were pay phones. Pulling one of the ten-dollar bills from his wallet, Mark used the numbers to call his uncle. After several rings, the phone was answered by a gruff male voice. Mark asked for Pat, explaining who he was. He was told to hold for a moment.

"Yeah," snapped a curt response.

"Uncle Pat, hey, it's Mark," answered McCormick.

"Mark, I thought I would be hearing from you, so how did you like the picture I sent you,"

"Well I don't mean to sound stupid, but who exactly is it?"

"Your grandmother, sorry, I thought you would figure that one out by yourself."

"Oh, no wonder she looked familiar, now that I think about it I can see some of the family resemblance."

"That's exactly why I sent it to you. You would have liked her and she would have spoiled you rotten, I'm sure . . . Anyway I hear that you won your first big case. A little birdie told me that you pulled the rug out from under the District Attorney and made a big name for yourself with the news media.

"Well, I wouldn't go that far. I think I tried something that they were not expecting and had no idea how to counter attack me on.

"So, you're staying at the Isle de San Pietro. Bet it's beautiful there."

"Yep, I have a beautiful villa here; you need to come visit for a while. It's oceanfront with a pool and everything. I'm sure you could find things to do, possibly even entertain a young lady for a while.

"What young lady? I don't have a current girlfriend."

"Oh, last I heard, I thought you and Katrina were getting along pretty well."

"Uncle Pat, you don't need to pay for me a girlfriend. I don't think a relationship is something that you can buy, anyway."

"Who said I was paying for you a girlfriend? And where did you get that crazy idea, anyway? Oh, wait a minute here; let me guess; the honorable Judge Hardcastle, right? He really doesn't like me, does he?"

"Just leave the judge outta this. Now, you're really gonna tell me that you weren't paying Katrina to come and see me?"

"No, actually I wasn't. Katrina had told me that she was going to go see you to make sure the FBI was leaving you alone. And I told her to give you a message, but that doesn't mean I was paying her to see you. You must think I really stoop pretty low here. Of course, it doesn't surprise me that the judge wouldn't want me to get close to you, but he really doesn't need to fill your head with that kind of nonsense."

"Well, I did see Katrina a few times, but I thought you were still paying her. And by the way, the judge didn't fill my head with anything."

"Now, Mark, you mean you turned away that beautiful girl just because she worked for me in the past? I would think that you of all people would be able to forget someone's past and not hold it against them, unless of course . . . someone else was influencing you."

"Okay, now I feel really stupid. And stop the crap about the judge, okay, enough already."

"Well, get past it. It's up to you whether you see Katrina again; I'm staying out of that one. You are the one who needs to explain it to her, or then again not . . . Enough on that subject and onto another, has the FBI checked in on you lately? I understand that they were harassing you. Katrina said when she went to the judge's estate that they were there . . . Is there anything I can do for you? I really don't like them picking on my nephew."

"Hey, your nephew has been taking care of himself for a long time now. I think I can manage; besides you're my client and with attorney/client confidentiality and privilege, they can't touch me.

"Didn't think of that one, that's pretty good, you're pretty darn smart. Just be careful, they have some fairly smart ones at the bureau too."

"So, you think they are smarter than me?" Mark chuckled.

"Well, maybe they are just as smart. You have impressed me, although you may have made some bad decisions early on, you have made some adjustments and hopefully learned a hard and long lesson."

"Of that you can be sure," Mark mumbled.

"Okay, I need to let you go, and don't wait so long to call again. Mark, make some plans to come down and visit. I would really enjoy having you . . . and you can even bring the judge along. After all, he and I should have a good heart to heart conversation. And . . . maybe you could even bring a female companion along, hint, hint."

"Now, I know it's time to hang up, take care and I'll call again," said Mark in closing.

"Take care, Mark," Pat stated as he disconnected the line.

Mark listened to the dial tone for a second before hanging up the phone; he then slowly made his way back to the bar and his waiting beer. He again surveyed the inhabitants of the bar.

He checked for anyone who looked out of place, or who seemed especially interested in him. He sat down on a stool. The bartender motioned to him, asking if he needed another beer. Mark nodded his head, dug money out of his pocket and placed it down on the bar. A beer was quickly exchanged for the money.

After finishing his beer, Mark exited through the front door, while looking around for any suspicious vehicles or anyone paying too much attention to him. Feeling that he had not been followed, he climbed into the Coyote and headed toward home.

Cruising up the Pacific Coast Highway, he thought of the conversation with Pat. He was glad that he had finally made contact with him. He had thought about calling different times, but thought that Hardcastle would have a fit if he knew he was in contact with his "gangster" uncle. He could hear the lecture he would get about a promising attorney with mob ties and screwing up his life again and on and on.

He entered the driveway and parked the Coyote in front of the garage. Unlocking the door to the gatehouse and stepping into the dark interior, Mark was startled when Hardcastle spoke. "It's about time you got home."

"Geeze, Judge, what are you trying to do, scare me half to death?" Mark said breathlessly.

"Where have you been?" Hardcastle grumbled.

"Out, Judge, it's late can we go to bed, please?" Mark whined.

"You went to call Pat Martinelli, didn't you?" Hardcastle snapped

"Judge . . ." _I can't lie to him_ . . . "Okay, yeah, I called Uncle Pat, and he was the one who sent the photograph of my grandmother," Mark admitted.

"McCormick, you gotta think here, you got in trouble with the FBI the last time you had contact with Pat. Do you think they are going to keep letting this ride?"

"Judge, he's my flesh and blood; the FBI has no right to stop me from making contact with him."

"He's a wanted felon, McCormick!" Hardcastle yelled.

"But, Judge, he's also my client, that can keep the FBI at bay."

"Believe me, the FBI can eventually find a way around that smoke screen," Hardcastle snapped.

"McCormick, damn it, you have too much to lose here! You finally have a law practice that is starting to take off. You can help so many people, but you can't do that behind bars yourself," the judge pleaded.

"Okay Judge, let me think about all this. There has to be a way around all this mess."

"It is pretty late, okay, stay put . . . on the estate and get some sleep. We'll talk about this again in the morning, we both will be thinking a little clearer. And by the way, don't you have a jury selection in the morning?" Hardcastle grumbled.

"Oh man, I forgot about that, I need to be in court at 8:30, and it's already past two," Mark whined.

"Now you're cookin'" Hardcastle grinned, knowing that Mark would regret his late night foray.

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Mark tried to get his exhausted body awake first with a cold shower, and then with some of Hardcastle's coffee, which could have floated bullets. He still felt like there was gravel under his eyelids.

He had tried to forget about the events of the past several days and get some sleep, but the photograph of his grandmother . . . _his grandmother, has a nice ring to it . . . _he smiled . . . and the conversation he had with Pat kept playing over and over again in his mind, so sleep was very elusive.

He shoveled down his breakfast, while Hardcastle berated him about having to choose between running around all night, and his duties as an officer of the court. Nodding his acknowledgment as the lecture continued, McCormick grabbed his briefcase and made for the Coyote. He knew he had to get moving in order to make it to the court on time.

The ride to the city was refreshing, but he realized regretfully that he would be inside the courthouse for the rest of the day. He slowly made his way across the parking garage toward the elevator. He was caught off guard as two men grabbed his arms, he felt a prick as he was injected with something; as the needle was removed, his vision was already fading to blackness.

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	3. Chapter 3

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Mark moved his head and immediately regretted making any movement, as his head now felt ready to explode. He gave a slight moan, and opened his eyes slowly, looking around the room he found himself in. He was lying on a mattress on the floor, which was against the back wall of a fairly plain room. The two former windows of the room were boarded over from the inside; the light for the room was coming from a single bare bulb that hung from the center of the ceiling.

He quickly realized that his suit coat, tie, belt, shoes, socks, watch, wallet, and all the contents of his pockets were gone. He made the effort to roll from his back to his side; he then discovered that he was chained to the back wall by his right ankle. He swallowed hard as the alarm bells went full tilt, and the volcano in his stomach boiled over.

_Oh God, this really doesn't look good. The last thing I remember was parking in the garage of the courthouse, and now I'm here, but where is here? _

_Of course if they wanted me dead, I would be already. So what do they want? And who is they? _

He slowly and methodically explored the part of the room that the chain reached. There was absolutely nothing other than the mattress that he could access within the 10 feet that the chain allowed.

Actually, looking around the bare room, there was nothing other than the mattress in the entire room, besides, of course, himself. Off to the right side was a doorway, which appeared to be a small bathroom. Other than a former walk-in closet that now was no more than an alcove in the wall, the room was empty.

_Well I guess I'm stuck here until someone decides to come get me. God, I hope Hardcase realizes something major is wrong since I didn't show up for court. _

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"What do you mean, he never showed up for the jury selection?" Hardcastle practically screamed into the telephone.

"I'm sorry, sir, but he never showed for the jury selection and Judge Hamilton was more than a little angry. He issued a bench warrant for contempt of court for Mr. McCormick, but no one seems to be able to find him," explained Sandy, the clerk of courts for Judge Hamilton's office.

"And who looked for him? And where did they look?" asked Hardcase hurriedly.

"The bailiffs split up and searched different areas of the building looking for him. I don't think they wanted to see him get in trouble either. Andy Walsh, of Judge Wolfel's court, found Mr. McCormick's car parked in the parking garage where he usually parks, but he was nowhere to be found."

"So, I thought maybe I should get in contact with you. Judge Hamilton postponed the jury selection until next Thursday, but he was really angry. You had better tell Mr. McCormick that he should come in and apologize to the judge in open court, and maybe that will get him out of the contempt charge, because you know how Judge Hamilton's temper is," Sandy offered.

"Okay, I will make sure that Judge Hamilton gets his apology." . . . _I'm gonna kill him, he had better have a REALLY good excuse for this one!_

"This is definitely not like McCormick, though. Don't worry Sandy I'll take care of it. It will be okay. Can you tell Judge Hamilton, thank you for the new jury selection date? And thank you for calling and letting me know," Hardcastle said, trying to sound calmer than he felt.

_But this really doesn't sound like Mark; he wouldn't skip an important court date like this without getting me or someone to fill in for him. _

_Something is wrong big time! _

His next thought was to call Frank, and he promptly dialed the lieutenant's phone number. His gut instinct was warning him that something was seriously wrong.

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The only sound Mark heard in the room was made by the chain as it drug behind him across the wooden floor. Frustrated, Mark finally sat down on the mattress and pushed himself back against the wall. He brought his knees to his chest in an attempt to get comfortable. The cuff was already starting to rub and bite into his bare ankle from the small amount of pacing he had done. Despite trying to calm himself, he was starting to feel desperate.

_I just gotta give Hardcase the time to figure who has me and where I am, and he'll be here to get me out. _

_Kemosabe to the rescue!_

_Come on, Hardcase, what's taking you so long?_

Several hours had passed without any sounds from the rest of the house. He was beginning to think that he was left there alone. Suddenly, he heard footsteps coming down the hall and approaching the room in which he was being kept. He heard the lock disengage and two goons came into the room. They quickly were upon him, knocking him down on his stomach.

"Put you hands behind your back," one ordered.

Mark slowly and reluctantly complied with the request. Handcuffs snapped into place around both wrists, as his arms were jerked together. Next, a rolled handkerchief was brought around his head toward his mouth.

When Mark failed to immediately open his mouth to accept the gag, "Open . . . now," came another order. Mark obviously did not respond quickly enough, as the goon laid a hard punch to his kidneys, accentuating again the "now" part of the order. Mark opened his mouth and the gag was forced inside, and tied around the back of his head.

After several minutes, Mark attempted to shift his weight and roll onto his side. Another punch fell onto his kidneys, with a resounding, "Stay put, and don't make a sound, clear," the goon made the threat crystal clear.

Mark closed his eyes briefly and tried to relax under their intense observation. A few minutes later, Mark could hear the soft crunch of gravel under the weight of a vehicle approaching the house.

_So, that's why all the rough treatment. They want to make sure that I can't yell out to anyone or possibly get loose and try to escape. Yeah right, chained fast to the wall, where the hell am I gonna go? Okay, Mark, just relax and go with the flow; maybe you can find something out here, because it sounds like they are getting company._

Several more minutes passed, Mark again opened his eyes as more footsteps were heard approaching the room. He could hear more than see, as one of the goons was blocking his line of sight, that more people had entered the room.

"Get him up, I want to see him," came an order by someone who appeared to be in charge.

Mark was jerked to his knees between the two goons, who held onto his arms tightly.

He was studied by four mafia types who had entered the room. Three were dressed in business attire, one had stepped forward to look at him closer. The fourth was dressed in jeans and a flannel shirt, and also stepped forward but stood off to the side. Mark held their gaze. With a motion of his hand, the man in the center indicated that he wanted the gag removed from Mark's mouth.

_Okay, Mark, these are definitely the higher ups. Just stay calm and think. Don't cause these guys any problems or they're gonna take it out on your hide._

Mark coughed slightly and dipped his head forward as the gag was untied and came loose. Another motion from this man, and one of the goons grabbed a handful of Mark's curly locks and jerked his head up.

_Easy, easy don't fight it. Let them show their bosses that they have control over you._

This man nodded looking over at the flannel shirted man and verified, "It's him all right, make sure you keep him alive and healthy, I'll be in contact when I want him moved."

_Yep, I definitely like the alive and healthy part. But move me where and why?_

He then returned his gaze and addressed Mark, "Mr. McCormick, you will be well taken care of, you just need to sit back and be patient and you will be out of here shortly, no harm will come to you." The man turned and strolled from the room; the other two followed him out.

The man dressed in the flannel shirt stepped closer and bent down to Mark's level.

"I hope you like soup and sandwiches, cause that's what you're gonna have," he added softly. He motioned for the other two goons to release him and take off the handcuffs. He left the room.

Later when he returned, Mark was now sitting on the mattress, rubbing circulation back into his wrists. He sat a tray down next to the mattress with the promised soup, sandwich, and a can of soda.

Finally Mark spoke, "Can I ask what I'm doing here?"

One of the goons inched closer, while he looked up at his boss for direction, probably to render a punishment if the boss deemed it was necessary. This was the one who had been landing the kidney punches Mark surmised, as he felt the goon's body weight shift. He flicked a sideways glance toward the goon. Mark allowed his head to fall forward with a sigh, he then slowly raised his head and looked again into the man's eyes.

"Look, I've been kidnapped, drugged, chained up like an animal. I think you could at least tell me what the hell is going on, and why I'm here?" Mark repeated his question softly.

"Just be good and do as you're told and you'll be outta here soon, that's all I can tell you," the man responded. He then motioned the other two goons to follow him from the room.

_Sure, just be good, up to the point where they have you on your knees in a garbage dump in the middle of some swamp and a gun to the back of your head. . . Patience, Mark, just wait for your chance here._

Mark ate the soup and sandwich. He was savoring the last of the soda when one of the goons entered to retrieve the tray.

"Hey, I don't mean to be a pain here, but this chain doesn't allow me enough, to get into the head." Mark motioned toward the bathroom.

The goon frowned, looked over at the bathroom and then back at Mark. "I'll see what I can do," he said as he motioned for Mark to return the soda can to the tray. He picked up the tray and promptly left the room.

Mark smiled at he looked down at the pilfered soda tab in his hand. He almost pocketed it, when he decided to hide it underneath the mattress against the back wall of the room.

_Okay, Mark, keep calm and use your head. You need to gain the trust of these goons and look for a weakness. _

_What the heck are you gonna do with a soda tab anyway? It certainly won't help you get outta here . . . Play it super cooperative for now. Let them loosen up a bit. Use the famous McCormick charm and get them on your side. I definitely want to gain some sort of mutual respect here, if they decide that I'm no longer useful to them. _

_Come on, Hardcase, what's taking you so long?_

The guy with the flannel shirt again entered the room, followed by the other two.

"Hey, can I go to the bathroom?" Mark again asked, smirking. "I'll be good, dad, I promise." The guy with the flannel shirt, who seemed to be in charge of the other two, leaned forward, pulling the keys to the cuff out of his pocket, and unlocked Mark's ankle, which was starting to show the wear and tear of it's confinement and friction from the cuff. Mark slowly got up and took a step toward the bathroom. The man's hand grabbed his shoulder and stopped him.

"Search him, and then again when he comes out," he said to the other goons, then to Mark he added, "And the door stays open, so they can see you."

Mark nodded, raised his arms to allow the rough frisk, and shrugged, adding in his famous joking tone with a grin, "What do you think, I found an uzi since I've been here?"

The man actually chuckled, "They said you had a mouth on you," although he never elaborated on who 'they' were.

Mark acknowledged the comment with another grin, "If you can't beat 'em, join 'em, I always say."

Mark entered the small bathroom, leaving the door open as requested, completed his business and then returned to the room. He raised his hands, as he approached the two goons to again submit to the frisking.

When one of the goons bent down to retrieve the cuff for his ankle,

Mark spoke up, frowning, "Hey, can we lose the jewelry?" indicating the ankle cuff and chain. "It's really starting to chew into the ankle," he complained.

"Sorry, champ, the anklet stays," as he patted Mark on the cheek. The goon then snapped the cuff back into place. "Try not to move around too much," suggested the guy.

"Yeah, sounds good, you try it," Mark whined, he flopped back down onto the mattress as they left the room.

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	4. Chapter 4

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A man in an old jeep drove frantically up a winding dirt road. The tropical ocean could be seen breaking onto the beach in the distance. He came to a skidding halt by a gated driveway entrance. Yelling at the guards behind the gate, he explained that he had a message and needed to be admitted immediately. One of the guards climbed into the jeep with him and they drove the rest of the distance to the house.

Stopping at the front steps, the man jumped from the jeep, and took the steps two at a time. He paused briefly and rapped the door knocker twice. As soon as the door opened, he explained in broken English that he had news for the Don from America.

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Mark had begun to complain about getting a shower and a change of clothes after the second day of his captivity, joking that they would soon release him, as they wouldn't be able to stand the smell.

Finally, they had allowed him to shower in full view of a guard. They brought him a change of clothes, jeans and a t-shirt. Mark had entertained the guard with comments about attempting an escape, by going down the shower drain. Mark could tell the guards were beginning to loosen up a bit around him. He didn't attempt to resist them in any way, and they began to expect his cooperation.

His days were beginning to mesh together the only way he was able to tell the passing of days was the meals that he was brought, breakfast showed him what time of the day it was. He was using the soda tab to mark the wall behind him, after each breakfast was delivered. The ever-present burning light bulb in the room and lack of windows, did not allow him to tell when it was night or daytime.

Overall, he was being treated fairly decent. His main concern was the fact that they had never hidden their identities from him, which made him think they were not concerned that he would or could identify them. Another problem was the increased soreness of his ankle from the cuff and chain, which at this point was beginning to cause an ugly wound.

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Hardcastle and Frank had come up with absolutely no leads as to McCormick's whereabouts in the past five days. They had put out feelers on the street, for any information. Frank had immediately issued an APB with McCormick's description after his disappearance. They had even reluctantly checked all the local hospitals.

The FBI had visited the police station, Special Agent Morris, of course was very interested in any developments in the case. Hardcastle was practically living in Frank's office, only going home for brief periods and returning almost as soon as he had left.

Frank was beginning to not only worry about Mark, but also the judge, as he could see that he was not getting much sleep, as the days wore on without even a tidbit of information. Many of Mark's street contacts had come forward to offer their services, telling the judge and Frank that they were trying to dig up any information, explaining that most of them owed Mark. But, alas, no information was forthcoming.

Hardcastle had enlisted the help of another friend, an attorney, to take over the pending jury selection for McCormick. He wanted the client to have good counsel in McCormick's absence, and the judge himself would not be distracted from the search.

"God, Frank, this feeling keeps getting worse by the day. McCormick would have called by now, if he could have," Hardcastle fussed. "Five days, where could he be? He couldn't have just vanished and we know it was against his will, he would have called me," the judge repeated, speaking more to himself than to Frank. He slumped down in a chair and ran his hands through his hair. He was beginning to look extremely tired and a little worse for the wear and tear.

"Milt, why don't you go home for a while and get some sleep; I'll call you if anything comes up," Frank suggested.

"I can't go home, I've got to figure out where he is, Frank," Milt retorted. "He's counting on me to bring him home." Hardcastle dropped his head to his chest, and covered his face in his hands.

"Milt, you're not doing anybody any good. You're exhausted. I'll call you as soon as I get any information. I'm worried about him, too, but I gotta tell you that he's gonna be pissed if he returns, and I've let you run yourself into the ground. Now please go home and get at least seven or eight hours of good sleep, then maybe we can start fresh and figure this out.

"You know as well as I do that when a case has you stumped like this one, you need to step back, get some sleep, and start at it fresh. I'm gonna go home myself. I haven't seen Claudia in a couple days. I'm gonna get a shower, get some sleep and then we . . . we, both will start fresh in the morning," Frank ordered.

"But . . ." Milt started as he rose to his feet.

"No buts," Frank crossed the room and gave Hardcastle's shoulder a squeeze and guided him out the door. "That's what we're going to do, now get. I have Officer Wilcox waiting to drive you home, and he's gonna be back at eight in the morning to pick you up and bring you back so we can start on this again. That's an order," Frank added forcefully.

Hardcastle looked Frank in the eye, then gruffly added, "Okay, but don't get too used to giving me this kind of treatment."

Frank grinned, knowing the jurist was giving in, without acknowledging that he knew Frank was correct in his assessment of the situation. Hardcastle had been around long enough to know that you had to back off and start fresh, maybe with a different angle, when a case had you stumped. The problem was that Milt was too emotionally involved with this particular case, to be able to step back and objectively assess that he was pushing himself too hard.

He had ordered Officer Wilcox to take the judge straight home and then make sure he stayed home. He would send a night shift car out to relieve him at eleven. Wilcox was to return at exactly eight a.m. to bring the judge back to the station. He also ordered the young officer to ignore any and all threats from the judge, to do anything other than those strict orders, knowing full well the judge's desperation.

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Mark was now getting a shower every other day with a change of clothes, jeans and a t-shirt. Mark continued to complain about the chain and cuff, which at this point had the ankle bleeding and rubbed raw. At the suggestion of changing the cuff to the other ankle by one of the goons, Mark agreed, telling them to 'get the other ankle bleeding and they soon wouldn't have to worry about him at all when he got gangrene and both legs would have to be amputated.' The guards were starting to feel a good deal of sympathy for him. He had learned the two goons had names, Tom and Harry, while the boss, the guy in the flannel shirts, was Vince. Vince seemed to be a very intelligent man who soon realized the cuff and chain had to go, and set about to gather bandage and first aid materials for the ankle.

Mark managed to clean the wound; get the bleeding stopped and bandaged the ankle. He smiled; he had convinced them to remove the cuff and chain. He would continue to bide his time trying to find a weakness, so he could plan his escape.

Mark had attempted on numerous occasions to ask why he was being held. Vince and the goons refused to answer, Vince just continued to tell him 'to be good and soon he would be out of here.' But Mark continued to ask, hoping that someone would slip and give him a tidbit of information that would help him to solve the puzzle.

_Keep trying to figure it out, Mark, but don't irritate them, recognize when you got to leave off. At some point you're gonna catch them off guard and something is gonna slip out. You just got to be persistent and use your famous charm and finesse, but be careful not to push it too far, remember you're the perfect cooperative captive. _

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Arriving home, the judge grumbled as his fished his keys from his pocket. That wet behind the ears Officer Wilcox had refused to take him anywhere but home, then he insisted on sitting in the driveway to assure the judge would stay at home, maintaining that he was there to protect him. The judge again looked back at the Coyote sitting in the driveway. He had retrieved it on Wednesday from the parking garage after the forensics team had dusted for prints, and checked for any signs of foul play. He shook his head and entered his dark house.

The light was on in the den, in his exhausted state the judge was wondering how he could have left it on, and he tried to remember if he had checked it, before he left the last time he was home. The days were all starting to run together on him. He again shook his head, as he entered the den; he quickly realized that he was not alone.

A voice stopped him from finishing the reach for his gun. "Easy, Judge Hardcastle, I'm just here to talk to you," supplied the voice, from in front of his desk.

Hardcastle felt a presence come up behind him, and a hand remove his gun from his holster. He studied the man who sat across from his desk, as he slowly made his way around to sit in his chair.

"Pat Martinelli, I presume," the judge countered.

"Very good, Judge Hardcastle," Pat commented. He extended his hand, as he rose from his chair, "I wanted to thank you for all you have done for Mark, he has turned into an extraordinary young man."

Hardcastle looked at the extended hand briefly, then accepted the firm handshake. "How long have you been back in the US?" Hardcase asked gruffly.

"Just flew in tonight. I heard about Mark's disappearance, so I figured I would come and see if I could help out."

"Why do I having a feeling that you know more about Mark being missing than you're letting on?" Hardcastle countered.

Martinelli smiled, "Now, what would give you that impression, Judge?"

"Because I highly doubt that you would return to the States unless . . . you had a pretty good idea of how to get to Mark, which means that you have been in contact with the kidnappers, or vice versa, either way, you know who has Mark or at least how to get Mark back, right?" Hardcastle questioned.

"You are very perceptive, Judge Hardcastle. I guess that is why it has been so good for Mark to be around you. By the way, I do want to thank you for all that you did for Mark. He was heading in the wrong direction and you seemed to have straightened him out. And now he is a promising attorney. I wish, I could have been able to get to know him better, but alas that was not possible," Martinelli reluctantly submitted.

"I really don't want your thanks or appreciation. What I did for Mark, I did for him. He's a good kid that never had the right breaks in life, and he got sucked into the wrong ways of doing things, he just had to realize that it was taking him nowhere fast," Hardcastle explained.

"And he learned from those mistakes, but some people never let you live down mistakes. . . He was lucky that you saw the good in him and now he's making his own breaks in life," Martinelli thoughtfully added.

"Well sometimes it only takes someone to show you, that you can be trusted, to prove that you can do it on your own."

"Judge, I'm only asking that you not inform the FBI that I am here, I am here to get Mark out of this mess, which I am currently in the process of arranging. Believe me, it's going to be a lot less of a problem for me to get him out, than if the law gets too involved, then it becomes a real good possibility that he could end up dead."

"I want to get something perfectly clear, Mr. Martinelli, my only concern here is McCormick," Hardcastle stated gruffly. "So, I take it that the reason he was kidnapped has something to do with you?" Hardcastle surmised.

"Judge Hardcastle, I would not be here, if it wasn't for my concern for Mark. He is in this mess because of me, and I fully intend to get him out of it. Just keep the law away for a little while longer, and let me work my magic. After all, this is my area of expertise that we are in now, please," Martinelli almost pleaded.

"Well, . . . I am obligated by being McCormick's law partner to not inform the FBI of your whereabouts, as you are his client. Therefore, attorney/client privilege actually keeps me from disclosing to the FBI anything concerning you," Hardcastle explained reluctantly.

"Good, now I will go and make some arrangements to retrieve Mark, as soon as I know something tangible, I will let you know."

"You do realize that a police officer is currently sitting in the driveway; let me get him to go get a pizza, to give you a chance to get out of here."

"We'll wait until you get him to leave; we don't want to cause a problem."

"Just make sure the Mark is not harmed during this power struggle, that I have a feeling brought all this into play. And make sure you call me with any and all updates about Mark," Hardcastle gruffly demanded.

"Oh, by the way, I understand that you use the same pool supply company as I used to. Does Andy still work there? He was a real nice guy," Martinelli added as he left the den and entered the hallway.

"Yeah, I believe he does," Hardcastle answered as he walked Martinelli and his body guard to the door. "Give me a couple of minutes to get Officer Wilcox on pizza retrieval duty."

_I can't believe that now I'm trusting a mobster to get Mark back. How do I keep this from Frank? Frank would be obligated to inform the FBI and I don't want to stir any more of this up, until I can figure out that Martinelli can get Mark out without any problems. _

_Hang in there, kiddo, it sounds like he has a plan to get you out without further problems. _

_And what the hell was that about Andy the pool guy? That made absolutely no sense. _

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Mark was still playing the cooperative captive, joking and bantering with his captives. He always made sure that he was away from the door when he heard them approaching. He would purposely remain still or made sure not to make any sudden movements, once they had opened the door. Slowly he could see that they were getting used to him cooperating.

One afternoon when Harry came to pick up his lunch tray, Mark asked, "Hey what the chance of getting some fresh air for a couple of minutes?"

Harry stopped looked at him, shrugged and left the room.

_Okay Mark just keep playing nice captive and maybe, just maybe, you'll get somewhere here. You gotta make some progress by yourself; you can't always count on Hardcase bailing your butt out every time. This just might be the time that he can't figure it out. 'Cause you're here and you haven't figured out why they want you yet._

Later Vince entered the room and stooped down in front of Mark. "I hear you'd like to get some fresh air? You planning something I should know about?" he asked, studying Mark intently.

Mark grinned throwing his hands in the air and snorted, "Sure, I'm gonna escape by running for the helicopter that I have coming in to rescue me, see I have an invisible radio here and I've been in constant contact with the FBI. Then they're gonna question you and figure out why the hell I'm here!" his voice gained some volume toward the end of the statement.

Vince just stared at Mark, trying to recognize a sign of deception, or trying to make up his own mind if he would allow Mark outside.

Finally he stood up, "Okay, I'll let you get some fresh air, but I wouldn't try anything stupid or you will live to regret it," he threatened. He continued to stare at Mark, and then motioned for him to stand.

Mark stood up and allowed Vince to guide him through the house to the front door. Upon actually observing the rest of the building, Mark decided it was a cabin. Exiting the front door, he found himself surrounded by trees, a gravel drive leading up to the cabin took a winding course out of sight.

Mark gingerly stepped through the pine needles and over gravel as they dug into his bare feet, to get a little distance from the cabin.

Vince snapped, "That's far enough," when Mark was approximately twenty feet from the cabin. Mark immediately stopped. Looking up, he saw that Harry and Tom were flanking him another ten feet out. He sighed deeply and allowed his head to loll backwards looking toward the sky. He stood quietly, breathing deeply, enjoying the smells and sights of the surrounding forest.

After fifteen minutes or so, Vince ordered, "Okay, back inside."

Mark looked over toward Vince; he felt Tom and Harry tense, waiting for him to try something. He slowly and carefully turned and returned to the cabin without hesitation.

Once back in his room, he could feel his captives relax. He even saw a small smile, Harry flashed at Vince, from the corner of his eye. He had passed another test and earned a little more respect and trust.

_Okay, Mark, you've gained some more ground, and Harry's the weakest link. He's not too bright and he's starting to trust you. He definitely talked Vince into allowing you outside. Time, Mark, more time, but how much more time do you got?_

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	5. Chapter 5

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Pat Martinelli had taken up refuge in a local hotel. He exited the building and quickly climbed into a waiting car. His second in command looked at him and spoke, "Are you sure this meeting is a good idea? After all, they pushed you into returning to the States, aren't we giving them the impression that they can push us around here?"

"Well, that's what they may think and we will leave them with that impression for awhile, but I think they are in for a rude awakening. Although, I am sure that most of members have no knowledge of what is happening. I am sure that the members involved are going to find out the hard way, that when they mess with my nephew, they mess with me. Besides what better way to spend an evening," Martinelli coldly replied.

The car they were riding in came to a halt in an alleyway adjacent to a side doorway. They exited the car and entered the building. An elevator ride brought them to the top the floor of the massive structure. The hallway was lined with mafia type henchmen, all of whom acknowledged their entrance respectfully. Two of them opened a set of large double doors to allow them passage into a central meeting room.

As they entered the meeting room, the hushed conversations faded. They made their way around the table, Martinelli shaking hands and giving hugs to a few old comrades. Once everyone made their way to their seats, Martinelli addressed the members.

"Thank you for allowing me to address you; I have come back to the US to take care of a family matter. My nephew, who I have I recently become acquainted with, the promising attorney, has disappeared."

Murmurs were heard throughout the room.

"I am asking my friends, members of this brotherhood, to assist me to locate my nephew. I ask for your assistance, as I am enjoying my retirement," Martinelli allowed the masked threat to hang in the air.

One of the senior members spoke up immediately, "I am offering, Mr. Martinelli, my assistance with this problem."

Several other members murmured their agreement.

"Thank you my friends, I appreciate your help in this matter. I would like to return to my new residence as soon as possible; I am enjoying my retirement, but I cannot in good conscience do so until my nephew has been found. I wanted to assure you in person that the oath that I took as a young man is my soul, my life, but . . . if any harm should befall my nephew or any member of my family then I shall be forced to return from retirement, and I will not rest until blood answers for blood . . . Gentlemen, I thank you for your time, I won't keep you any longer," Martinelli added as he rose from the table.

Again, as Martinelli made his way from the room, most members rose to offer their respect and assistance to the former mob boss.

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Hardcastle was awake long before his alarm was set to ring at six am. He dressed and headed downstairs for breakfast. He was in the kitchen, sipping on his coffee, when the doorbell rang.

Glancing at his watch, he approached the door. _That idiot, wet behind the ears Officer Wilcox is here darn early for an eight am pickup._

Opening the door expecting to yell at Wilcox, the judge was surprised to see Agent Morris, from the FBI, standing on his doorstep.

"Judge Hardcastle, I apologize for the early intrusion, but I really need to speak with you. It's in reference the disappearance of Mr. McCormick," Morris began.

"Sure, come on in, do you have any news?" as he led the way into the den.

"Actually, no, but I did get a tip that Patsy Martinelli is back in town. I wanted to run it by you. Do you think that he's the one who has McCormick?" he asked.

"No . . . after all he's McCormick's client; why would he kidnap him? That makes no sense," Hardcastle quickly added, acting more than a little confused with the question.

He gave a slight nod as an acknowledgment. "Has he tried to make any contact with you at all?" Morris inquired, watching the judge intently.

"Who? McCormick?"

"No, Patsy Martinelli."

"Agent Morris, you have to understand that even if he did, I would be obligated by attorney/client privilege, to not divulge that information to you," the judge replied evenly.

"Even if this criminal . . . this wanted mobster, might be responsible for Mr. McCormick's disappearance? . . . And besides, as you said, he is Mr. McCormick's client, not yours."

"McCormick and I are law partners; this means everyone who is employed by our law firm cannot divulge any information about a client of the firm, and, Agent Morris, you already know that, I am quite sure. Now, we have already discussed this subject as far as I can. But, I can tell you, that I do not think Mr. Martinelli had anything to do with McCormick's disappearance," Hardcastle finished gruffly, but sincerely.

"And you still haven't received a ransom demand or any contact from the kidnappers?" Morris asked.

"No, I haven't heard anything, Agent Morris, if I had, I would keep you and the local police apprised of this information immediately," Milt responded truthfully.

"You are aware that the FBI has taken over jurisdiction of this case, and the local police are only assisting us? I wouldn't want anyone to get confused over who should be kept up to date on any, and all, pertinent information in this case. We feel that the kidnapping has something to do with Pat Martinelli. Maybe some under boss thought that McCormick had some information that could help them gain a better foothold in the scheme of things."

"I do understand that the FBI is now in charge of the case, Agent Morris. And you will be the first person I call," he added trying not to grit his teeth. _Not! _"As to Pat Martinelli's involvement, I just can't see that McCormick would have any information that someone else would want, or what they could possibly gain by it. Please keep in contact and let me know of anything you turn up. Thank you for your time, in coming to see me in person," Hardcastle returned politely as he led the way to the door.

Hardcastle sat down to await Officer Wilcox, after showing Agent Morris out.

_It sounds like the FBI hasn't figured out McCormick's connection to Pat Martinelli yet. But, they may be right about why McCormick was kidnapped. It definitely has something to do with a power struggle within the mafia. I just hope that McCormick doesn't become a casualty of the war. I hope Martinelli can pull this one off, or we may never see McCormick again._

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Pat knew his vague threats to the brotherhood would get the ball rolling, so to speak. His friends would be trying to dig up information, and his enemies would be scrambling to conceal it. The problem was simply that he was not sure who all the enemies were amongst his brotherhood friends.

He reluctantly picked up the telephone and dialed Milton Hardcastle. He had never before trusted someone from law enforcement. But he knew that Hardcastle had Mark's best interest at heart.

"Hardcastle," came the curt greeting.

"Hey, Judge, this is Andy, you know, down at the pool shop, I just wanted to let you know that I got that piece in you ordered for the pool filter. I knew you were waiting on it, so I figured I'd call bright and early," Pat said, slyly changing his voice.

Hardcastle hesitated, thinking that it didn't sound like Andy, and then he realized that Martinelli had made a comment to him about using the same pool supply company. At the time, he remembered thinking that the comment was funny, and out of context.

"Oh yeah, Andy, sure I'll be right down, if you're in the shop now," Hardcastle quickly added.

"Yep, I'll be waiting for you," Martinelli replied.

Martinelli kicked back in the pool shop's office and waited for Hardcastle's arrival.

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Mark kept up his cooperative captive act; they had quickly fallen into a comfortable routine. Twice, within the past week, they had allowed Mark to go outside for a brief period. Mark had spent the time scouting, by eye, the surrounding area in an attempt to figure out the best route of escape.

One evening following dinner, Harry and Tom rushed into the room. Vince followed carrying the chain and cuff. Mark silently watched them approached, with a look of disgust pasted on his face. Vince bent down and snapped the cuff fast to Mark's ankle and fastened the other end to the wall.

"Okay, now what did I do?" Mark smirked.

"Don't ask a lot of questions, just go along," Vince responded briskly.

Motioning to Harry and Tom, he ordered, "Keep him quiet and under control, understand?" They nodded their response, as he quickly exited the room.

Mark ignored them, slumped against the back wall and began shuffling a deck of cards, then laying out a game of solitaire. While seeming to play the game, he listened carefully; he again could hear the crunch of gravel under the weight of vehicle tires on the road out front.

_So we are getting visitors again; I need to stay on my toes. Could this be my way out of here, or could they be planning to get rid of me? Stay on your toes, Mark, stay on your toes._

In the central room of the cabin, the mafia types were instructing Vince that McCormick was to be kept safe and alive, no harm was to befall him at any cost. They continued that if anything happened to Mark, they would be held responsible, and they all would pay the ultimate price. This project had become increasingly more difficult to escape from, with their skins intact. Vince assured them, repetitively, that Mark was safe and would be kept in that condition.

After approximately a half hour, footsteps could be heard approaching the room. Mark kept playing his game, ignoring the entourage that entered the room.

"As I told you, he's fine," Vince exclaimed, his frustration visible. The mafia types scrutinized Mark, and then exited the room. Harry and Tom seemed to relax immediately. Vince followed them out of the room.

In the central room of the cabin, the mafia types again threatened Vince, with consequences, if they failed; on the other hand, they offered immeasurable benefits for their success. They quickly departed the cabin. Vince swallowed hard, and sighed deeply, knowing the burden that was placed on his shoulders.

Vince again entered the room, signaling to Harry and Tom that they could exit. Mark began to balk, pointing to the cuff and chain attached to his ankle, but Vince held up his hand to stop Mark, and shook his head indicating that he did not want to even hear the complaint. Then he left the room.

_What just happened? What did I do wrong? Why have I just lost ground with these guys? Damn, I was progressing, now I'm back to square one. Am I ever gonna get out of here? _

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A few days later, Mark saw his chance for an escape coming together. He had overheard his captors talking; Vince was leaving to go get supplies, thus making it sound like their ordeal here was far from over. Later, when Harry entered his room to remove his breakfast tray, Mark requested to get a shower. Harry stooped to unlock the cuff and Mark slugged him, knocking him unconscious. Stealing his socks and shoes, Mark slowly snuck out of the cabin. Once outside, he ran into the woods. Not knowing the actual direction of civilization, Mark prayed he was heading toward town.

Stumbling through the woods, Mark tripped several times, falling hard. Swearing constantly about Harry's shoes being too big, he continued, knowing that they will soon be chasing him.

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Vince returned to find Harry waiting at the cabin and Tom searching the perimeter woods, in an attempt to ascertain Mark's route of travel. Vince retrieved his backpack from the cabin, after giving his two sidekicks a thorough ass chewing, and the three headed into the woods. Vince quickly found Mark's trail without difficulty, and the chase began.

Several hours passed as the chase continued. Vince stopped and assessed the change in the terrain, he realized they were approaching the mountain. He instructed Harry and Tom to proceed in a northerly direction, while he circled around the ridge to the east.

Mark managed to maintain a fairly steady pace. He was startled several times, as wildlife scurried away from his path, alarmed by his presence. He stumbled to the top of a bank; below him a deer was drinking from a small stream. Mark realized how thirsty he had become. Nervously looking around him, he started down the muddy embankment, and quickly found himself sliding out of control to the bottom. The frightened deer bound into the woods silently. Mark made his way to the stream by crawling the rest of the distance.

On his hands and knees, Mark leaned forward to take a drink, when he heard the unmistakable sound of a gun cocking. He heaved a huge sigh and dropped his head forward in defeat; remaining frozen in place, he waited as he heard footsteps approach behind him.

As he approached, Vince watched Mark for any sign of resistance. He stopped behind him and ordered, "Bring your hands up on top of your head and interlock your fingers."

Slowly, Mark complied, while shifting his weight back onto his knees. He glanced over, as he heard Harry and Tom come out of the trees to his left.

"Cover him, and don't screw up again," Vince snapped, leaving the threat hanging in the air.

Harry and Tom both drew their guns and moved slightly away from one another, to cover Mark as they continued to approach.

Vince grabbed Mark's right wrist and twisted it behind his back and tied it with a rope he had pulled from his backpack, the other wrist followed, then a noose was slipped over Mark head and tightened. Vince jerked on the rope to indicate to Mark, for him to rise to his feet. Mark regretfully realized the other end of the rope was in Vince's grip.

Another jerk on the rope told Mark to move out.

Slowly, the four men made their way back through the woods toward the cabin. After walking an hour or so, Tom asked Vince to stop for a breather. Vince frowned, but directed Mark to stop by a tree, which he slowly slid down to a seated position.

"Damn, I could really use a drink," Tom complained.

Vince pulled two bottles of water from his backpack and handed one to Tom. Indicating Harry, he stated, "You're gonna have to share."

Cracking the seal on his bottle, Vince took a swig. After Tom and Harry had taken several swallows of their bottle, Harry got up and approached Mark, who had been watching them intently, licking his dry lips in anticipation.

Vince looked up when he saw what Harry was about to do, he gruffly ordered, "No! . . . Only I give him water and food him anymore. He's gonna learn who's his boss and who he answers to."

Harry looked at Vince, glanced over at Mark, who had allowed his head to loll back against the tree. Harry slowly returned to sit on the log he previously occupied.

After a brief respite, "Time to go," Vince snapped, accentuating the order with a tug on Mark's rope. Pushing against tree, Mark attempted to stand, with his arms tied behind him, it made getting his legs under him very difficult, but he managed to stumble to a standing position after three or four tries. Vince shoved him from behind; Mark reluctantly continued his stumbling march up the trail.

Mark fell several times and was encouraged with a jerk of the rope to regain his footing. The increased jerking of the rope put more pressure on the noose around Mark's throat. Mark would begin to cough and gag, until Vince would eventually reach up and loosen the noose from behind. If Harry or Tom would move to assist, Vince would stop them from intervening. Harry at one pointed disgustedly muttered that he should just strangle Mark quickly and get it over with.

Another fall, and Mark had enough, "Okay, you win . . . I'll do whatever you want," Mark managed to croak out of his dry throat, as he knelt on the ground, too exhausted to rise, while he struggled to regain his breath. "Just tell me what the hell this is all about . . . why am I here?" he asked, too tired to even raise his head to look at Vince.

"First, I need your word that these stupid escape attempts are done and over with," Vince requested, observing his exhausted prisoner carefully.

"I need to know why this is all happening before . . . I can promise you anything," Mark coughed out, still on his knees. His mouth felt dry as cotton, and each breath was coming with more and more difficulty, as his throat was beginning to swell, from the combination of the rope continually digging into his neck and the lack of fluids.

After several minutes, and no response from Vince, Mark attempted to stand without success. Vince watched as Mark struggled to stand, but failed several times, finally he stopped to rest again, breathing heavily.

"I need your word, Mark," Vince insisted calmly.

Mark squeezed his eyes closed; concentrating hard, as he debated with himself, whether he should ask the question that had been on his mind from the beginning of this ordeal. "Does this have anything to do with Pat Martinelli?" he asked quietly.

"I knew you had it figured out," Vince smiled. Vince stooped down in front of Mark to catch his eye. "Yes, it seems someone wanted to put pressure on Mr. Martinelli, and they thought you might be of service. Our job was to be the go betweens, making sure that you stayed safe and alive. But this little stunt of yours, could have put you right into their hands and caused us a great deal of difficulty to explain. And more than likely a long ride into the countryside with no return, do you understand?"

Mark nodded his head, "But I don't see how any of this is helping me to get out of here."

"Mr. Martinelli is already negotiating your release, you just need to stay put, and cooperate a little while longer."

Mark shook his head and again attempted to rise. Vince caught his arm and assisted him to his feet, looking him in the eye, he insisted, "Mark, I need you to promise me that the stupid stunts are over with."

Mark starred at him for a moment and then slowly shook his head.

"Boy, they said you were stubborn . . . but you're also smart and you know that I can keep this up until I break you," Vince smiled slightly, letting the threat hang.

Mark knew he was right, he couldn't keep up his resistance, and he was already dehydrated. Vince just had to be patient and Mark would eventually be forced to comply. He knew that Vince realized that once he had given his word, he was much easier to control.

Vince starred at his captive, contemplating his next statement. "I can promise you that the three of us will protect you, you will be released, but the time table is out of my hands."

"And my uncle?" Mark asked, another coughing spell cutting off any further questions.


	6. Chapter 6

After a moment of stunned silence, "Pat Martinelli is your uncle?" Vince inquired.

Mark nodded his head. _Okay, you're exhausted and not thinking clearly, you shouldn't have disclosed that information to anyone._

"Well, that actually makes a little more sense now. Mark, I don't think they are in any position to actually hurt your uncle, I can honestly say that I'm sure the brotherhood would never stand for it. That is what is protecting you both . . . But I need to hear it, Mark, give me your word," Vince insisted.

Knowing he really didn't have a choice in the matter, "You got it . . . no more stupid escape attempts . . . I'll try to be a good captive . . ." the rest was again cut off by a hacking and coughing spell.

Vince grabbed his water bottle and held it to Mark's lips, who immediately began to guzzle it. Vince jerked the bottle away quickly, "Hey, slow down, you're just gonna make yourself barf, if you drink that fast . . . just a few sips at a time, all right?" as he again offered the bottle.

After letting Mark sip on the water, he capped the bottle and placed it back in his backpack. "I'll give you more later, if you fill your stomach you'll just puke it up, I'm telling you." Vince then turned Mark and proceeded to untie the noose around Mark's neck. "Sorry, Mark, but the ropes stay on your wrists until we're back in the cabin. Now you think you can make it back?"

Mark nodded his head and started up the trail again.

After approximately three hours of walking and two more rest breaks, the cabin loomed into sight. Once inside his room again, Vince stopped him in the center of the room, untied his hands, then Vince motioned toward the bathroom. "I think you'd better get cleaned up. Tom get him some clean clothes. Now, do you two think you can watch him, while he showers, and then chain him back up while I make something for us to eat?"

They both nodded their heads.

"And, Mark, remember you promised to behave," Vince reminded him.

"Yes, dad," Mark grumbled.

Vince grinned; shaking his head, he turned and left the room.

Mark went about stripping off his sweat and mud-caked clothing to get a shower.

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As Hardcastle arrived at the pool shop, he quickly glanced down the street to make sure he wasn't being followed, and then he entered the shop. Martinelli came out of the office and greeted Hardcastle.

"I just wanted to let you know that I have put the pressure on the right people, and enlisted some help to find Mark. Negotiations are in place, and he should be returned soon. I also wanted to warn you that I may have to leave the country in a hurry, as the FBI seems to be aware of my presence."

"Yeah, I'd say you're correct in that assumption, I just had a visit from Special Agent Morris this morning."

"Somehow, that does not surprise me. Although they haven't quite figured out my connection to Mark yet, have they?" Martinelli questioned thoughtfully.

"No, that part seems to have them stumped," Hardcastle added.

"And you haven't informed them, Judge?" Martinelli asked.

"No, and you know that I won't, either. So why are we tap dancing around each other, let's cut to the chase. I don't like you, Martinelli; I've spent my whole life putting people like you behind bars. And now you've dragged McCormick into this mess of what you call a life," Hardcastle spat out.

"I'm surprised that you haven't informed the FBI, it would solve a lot of your problems. I would be in jail, and Mark would again be solely yours, right? You could boss him and tell him what to do all the time,"

Martinelli smirked.

"And Mark would never forgive me, right? And again you would be his confidant. The only problem I have with this whole mess is you putting McCormick in danger."

"I had no intention of putting Mark in any danger. I tried very hard to stay out of Mark's life; it was the FBI that actually brought Mark's value to everyone's attention. So if you are angry, maybe you should be angry with them. Thank God they haven't put the total picture together," Martinelli pointed out.

Hardcastle was silent as he mulled over Martinelli's last revelation.

"I am currently awaiting a proposal that will be the final part of the negotiation for Mark's release. I assure you that he will not be harmed, or they would lose their bargaining chip," Martinelli explained.

"But, I know McCormick, he will be aggravating his captors, he may even get killed, trying a harebrained escape plan," Hardcastle expressed his concern.

"Mark is a very resourceful young man, but I doubt that he will be able to successfully get away from the people who have him. I also think he will realize that you and I are trying to certify his release . . . I will get a message to him telling him to stay put. You know him a lot better than I do, would that convince him to cooperate until I can negotiate his release?" Martinelli queried.

"Probably, it would be the not knowing what was going on that would force him to try something stupid," Hardcastle surmised. "But, Mr. Martinelli, I would like an answer to a question that has been bothering me for awhile. I will not discuss this with McCormick; this is between you and him.

"Are you using him to replace your children that you have lost contact with? I think you need to be honest with yourself here, is McCormick becoming a substitute for your children?" Hardcastle questioned.

"You need to look at why you are so interested in McCormick, and decide if this is what is best for him? McCormick has been searching for a connection to someone and something, since he lost everything as a child. Are you offering that to him to keep him close and allow him to live his life as he sees fit, or to assure his undying loyalty to you?"

Martinelli was taken back at this suggestion from Hardcastle, but even his anger couldn't keep him from beginning to search his motivation for seeing Mark in the first place. He realized that Mark would have never found out that they were related. Sonny wasn't even aware of their real connection. And, as the judge pointed out, Mark was taking him at face value, even though he knew that he was tied to the mafia. Mark had risked his own freedom to protect his uncle from the FBI.

"Maybe I was wrong to see Mark when I did. It wasn't fair to see him when I was making plans to leave the country. I had watched him from a distance, ever since I learned about him in Atlantic City . . . Okay; maybe I am using Mark as a substitute for my children who no longer want anything to do with me."

"But, Judge, you need to ask Mark what we talked about that night. I never claimed to be his knight in shining armor. I was honest with him when I told him that the reason I had not contacted him sooner was the fact that you had done right by him, showing him the right path. He's become a fine young man under your example." Martinelli paused and then continued.

"And, Judge, since we're clearing the air right now and admitting our mistakes, maybe you need to admit to yourself, and then maybe to Mark, that you are also using him as a substitute for your own son. I am very lucky, my sons and my daughter are still alive, though they no longer wish to see me. I understand only part of your pain; your son is gone.

"That part of your pain I can't claim to fathom, but I feel you have allowed Mark to fill part of that gap in your life. Maybe when you admit that to yourself, you can in turn admit that to Mark, who constantly seeks out your approval in everything he does. How much of what he does accomplish, do you acknowledge to him? And, last but not least, are you jealous, that maybe I'm gonna steal some of Mark's affection, that he currently tries to give to you, as you continually push him away?" Martinelli countered.

Hardcastle grimaced as if Martinelli had hit him. Maybe that is why he has been so angry of late, and turned that anger onto McCormick; he couldn't sort out his own feelings. McCormick had been accomplishing great things, one after another. How much did he acknowledge them, and was he actually jealous that Martinelli could tell Mark that he was proud of him. He remembered McCormick describing the meeting with Martinelli, "he said he was proud of me," McCormick had a glow about him, as he had repetitively told the judge of their evening together. Was that a term that he had ever used to McCormick, had he told him that he was 'proud' of him?

Martinelli could see that he had hit a nerve with the judge who had remained silent as he contemplated the implications.

"Judge, I'm not knocking your relationship with Mark. I think you are probably the best thing for him. That's why I tried to sit back and watch, and not interfere. You have done a great job with him. What he has become is a testament to your dedication to him. But, I think some day you are going to have to admit to him, exactly what he means to you, or you may risk losing him too, just as I lost my children. Take it from someone who has made those mistakes," Martinelli added sadly.

Martinelli went over to the desk and made a phone call, as Hardcastle mulled over their conversation in his mind.

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Vince entered the bedroom and found Mark freshly showered and asleep on the mattress. The ankle chain was in place, cuffed to his right ankle. Tom and Harry were involved in a game of rummy near the door. Vince set the tray down by Harry and carried Mark's dinner over to him. Nudging him with his foot, he then set the meal beside him. Mark slowly pushed himself into a sitting position, rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

"Eat a little before you go to sleep," Vince instructed. He grabbed Mark's right wrist and looked at the rope burns. "I brought you an antibiotic ointment for that; how's the ankle?"

"Chafed."

"There should be some bandages there too."

Tom left the room to retrieve the phone, which was ringing. He again entered the room with the portable phone and handed it to Vince.

"Yeah . . . no there's no problem, why? . . . Well we spent a little time outside, when did you call? . . . Yep that's probably when we were outside for a bit. Sorry, I didn't think about this place not having an answering machine . . . Well I thought it was wise to have all three of us outside with him so he didn't try anything stupid . . . No he's not been a problem . . . Yeah, I'll tell him . . . Yep, he's fine . . . I understand, Thank you." Vince had glanced at Mark several times during the conversation, praying that he would remain silent.

"That was a message relayed from your uncle, he's currently in negotiations, to secure your release, you're supposed to sit tight and not do anything stupid," Vince explained.

"Why did you did you lie to them and tell them that I wasn't being a problem?" Mark asked.

"Because, Mark, it would have served no purpose; all it would have done was cause more problems. Look, your uncle is arranging to get you out of here. Leave it at that, get out of here and go on with your life. Forget about what you saw or heard here, forget that this ever happened," Vince suggested.

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Martinelli was surprised when the phone of the pool shop rang so quickly. One of his underlings answered it; after several seconds he held the phone out to Pat. Martinelli appeared to relax at the news from the other end of the line; he hung up the phone and turned to Hardcastle.

"Well, they assure me that he's fine and they gave him the message to sit tight from me, hopefully that will keep him safe, while I finish what I need to do. I will again be in touch with you, Judge. I don't expect us to become friends, but I do feel that we both want what is best for Mark," Martinelli stated as he held his hand out for the judge, who grasped it without hesitation and gave it a firm handshake. "I would really appreciate it, if you and Mark would come visit some day. You might actually enjoy yourself," Martinelli challenged smiling.

_Oh thank God, I think the kid's gonna be okay . . . I take notice Martinelli never elaborated on what they wanted from him for McCormick, but I bet it was a high price. I don't care, just so he's back here safe and sound. _

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Martinelli and entourage again entered the central meeting room. Murmurs of appreciation and recognition again filled the room.

"I wanted to thank my friends, members of this brotherhood, for assisting me in my time of need. I was surprised, but honored, at the request of my blessing of the new governing members of this corporation. After all, I left for retirement, I was expecting to have no say in the vote on this governing body, but I give my blessing readily. These are my friends and associates, who I see in the future wanting to follow my footsteps into the land of retirement."

Affirmative murmurs filled the room briefly.

"I hope that the brotherhood continues to prosper in these times of plenty. I wish Mr. Reese luck with his expansion endeavors. And I will be returning to my villa, as soon as I speak with my nephew. Please, members, feel free to come and visit me at any time," Martinelli invited. With this statement he rose to exit the room.

He caught Mr. Reese's eye from the corner of the room. _Yes, Reese, I informed everyone in this room that you were the cause of this problem. It may have cost me most of my territories, but I guarantee it will cost you a lot more. And the great thing is I don't even have to pull the trigger. You thought since you became a voting member of the brotherhood that you were protected. I think you will find that it was a fatal mistake. Instead the brotherhood, my friends, stepped in to make sure that Mark was protected._

After multiple goodbyes, Martinelli finally made his exit from the room.

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Hardcastle strolled into Frank's office, just as Frank was slamming the phone down. "Milt, where the hell have you been? I just chewed Officer Wilcox a new butt for the third time. He said he got to your house around eight o'clock and no one was home and your truck was gone."

"Sorry, Frank, I was just getting a little anxious, so I took a drive; I needed to clear my head," Hardcastle offered.

Frank looked at Hardcastle intently, "You've heard something haven't you?"

"Well, not exactly, but I have a feeling everything's gonna be okay," Milt explained.

"Milt, yesterday you were about to tear the whole country apart to find Mark, and now all of a sudden 'everything's gonna be okay.' I don't get it; no, change that; I'm not buying it. What's going on? And don't tell me nothing, I know better," Frank blurted out.

"Frank, just don't ask right now, I can't really explain it," Milt pleaded.

"Milt, is there something illegal going on?"

"Frank, it's just better if we stay out of it. I think it will really work out on its own. I don't want to see McCormick pay for something that he really has no control over," Hardcastle insisted.

Frank studied Hardcastle for a moment, then surmised, "So, whatever is going to happen, is something that you and I have to stay out of for now, correct?"

"The less we know, the better off we're gonna be, and I want to see McCormick walk away from this one alive. Frank, I really think this is the only way to get him back, or believe me, I wouldn't try it."

"Milt, this doesn't sound like too good of a plan to me," Frank insisted.

"Frank, I just wanted to stop by, so you wouldn't worry. As soon as I hear anything, I'll give you a call, okay? It's best if we stay out of it for a while. If the FBI gets too nosey, it could all blow up in McCormick's face and get him killed. They don't care about him, they just want a feather in their cap. I don't want McCormick to pay the ultimate price for their stupidity. So let's try to keep a low profile for a while, something's about to come out in the wash," Hardcastle said through clenched teeth.

"Okay, Milt, for you and for Mark, I'll stay out of it for a while, at least today. Heck, I'll even run some interference with the FBI for you if I have to, but you call me as soon as you hear anything, okay?"

"Now you're cookin', Frank. I'll call you later," Hardcastle said as he opened the door.

_God, I hope I know what I'm doing here, I'm trusting the mafia to bring McCormick back to me alive and in one piece. And now I get Frank involved by running interference with the FBI.  
_

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	7. Chapter 7

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Mark was sleeping, dreaming of what kind of relationship he could have had with Katrina when the door of the room opened, awakening him. Vince was standing there grinning broadly.

"Dang, Vince, you just ruined a really good dream," Mark complained.

"Hey buddy, you're gonna get outta here come morning. Your uncle is personally coming to get you," Vince explained.

Mark was quiet, he looked down at his hands, and then spoke, "And what did it cost my uncle to get me out of here? I'm sure it wasn't cheap."

Vince hesitated before answering, "Mark, I'm not sure, but believe me, these things have a way of working themselves out . . . trust me."

Mark slowly laid himself back down on the mattress, facing away from Vince. There wasn't much he could do now but wait.

Morning brought a more morose Mark; he kept thinking of all the trouble he had caused his uncle. He seemed to have a knack of doing that to people's lives. He was trying to think of one person that had gotten near him, that he hadn't caused a significant amount of grief.

_Hell, Marky, that's all you've ever done, is cause problems for everybody that's ever been around you. Let's see, now you forced Pat to come back to the US and the FBI is trying to stick him in prison. Even Hardcastle, as tough as he is, all you ever do for him is aggravate him. As he always telling you, you can never just listen and do what he says. You're still sponging off of him after all these years. And now this mess, you know the FBI is going to be on your ass trying to figure out what went on, and why you disappeared for this lovely vacation. And how are you going to explain this to Hardcase? Well guess what, Judge, you're right again, as always. And the lectures he's gonna give you for this one ought to last for about a month. Hardcase is gonna be in rare form chewing your butt off for these shenanigans, and of course it's all your fault for not listening to him in the first place._

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Breakfast came and went without a hitch. Mark was allowed to shower and change clothes; his personal items were returned. He was also given a pair of socks and sneakers, although they kept the ankle cuff and chain in place.

Several hours later, sounds of a car approaching could be heard. Then voices could be heard from the central room of the cabin. Eventually, hearing footsteps coming toward the bedroom, Mark's heart rate increased. This was it, either he was getting out of here, or it was the last thing he was to see.

_Glad Hardcastle isn't here to go for a twenty, I'd definitely lose. Okay, Mark, settle down; you gotta be prepared for whatever is gonna happen here. If it's gonna go bad, it's gonna be now. _

Finally the door of the bedroom opened, revealing Pat, grinning at Mark like he owned the world.

"You are getting to be a hard person to track down," Pat joked.

"Oh, real funny," Mark smirked. "Maybe we could get out of here now. Before someone else decides I should stay here longer."

Vince unlocked the ankle cuff, and tossed the chain aside.

"Thanks, Vince," Mark mumbled. He was worried about what was going to happen to these guys after they left.

"Come on kid, I have a car waiting for you, and a very impatient judge awaiting your arrival at home," Pat explained, as he slapped Mark on the back and ushered him from the room.

As they entered the central room, Pat turned to Mark's captors, "Thank you guys for keeping Mark safe. I understand that you were between a rock and hard place. But I do appreciate what you did. I believe there is a bonus coming your way."

Pat then ushered Mark from the cabin and to the waiting car. Mark began to put everything together, "Pat they aren't going to be hurt are they? They really did take good care of me." Mark questioned, pleading.

"Mark, what would give you that impression?" Pat answered as he signaled the driver to leave.

"Wait! Pat don't lie to me, please, these guys protected me. I don't want to find out that anything happened to them, please, Uncle Pat, I could never forgive myself, or you either, if something happened to them," Mark begged.

"Mark, I swear to you, those guys were actually working as doubles for a friend of mine. When he heard what someone had planned for you, he thought it was best if he stepped in and had control of the kidnappers himself. That way he could keep you protected. By the rules of the brotherhood, he had to allow the demands of the ransom to go down. But, I guarantee that someone will never enjoy the benefits of that ransom, and these guys will receive a hefty bonus for making sure that you stayed protected. Trust me," Pat assured Mark.

Mark was still tossing around the possibilities in his head. When Pat added, "How about, I arrange for you to see with your own eyes that these guys are okay, say in a week or two, okay?"

Mark nodded, accepting that his uncle was trying hard to please him. "And what is going to happen to the 'someone' who planned this whole usurp of power?" he asked.

"Now, Mark, that is even beyond my control at this point, he made his bed, now he must lie in it. That is the way of the brotherhood, even if I would try to stop what will inevitably happen, they would ignore me or take out their aggression on you, for my interference. Do not ask of this again," Pat ordered; his voice had become hard and without emotion. Pat again motioned the driver to leave.

Mark swallowed hard and closed his eyes. All he wanted now was to be home and to be able to put all of this behind him.

He understood that he had pushed his uncle as far as possible. He prayed that Vince, Harry, and Tom would be protected, as his uncle promised. But, he also realized that someone was probably going to pay the ultimate price for his forced vacation, and this was the part of his uncle's life he had tried to ignore.

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Once back in the city, their car pulled over in a convenience store lot. Pat explained, "I can't take you home, the FBI is watching everywhere for me. Tell the judge that everything worked out okay. And that I am keeping him to his promise to bring you down to visit. I am sorry that you got drug into this power struggle, I assure you that it will not happen again," handing Mark some money, he continued. "Call the judge and he'll come pick you up. Take care, Mark, I'm just glad that you are safe," Pat reached over and pulled Mark into a hug, releasing him with a slap on the back, saying, "please stay out of trouble for awhile."

"You spoke with Hardcastle?"

"Yep, we had a heart to heart conversation about you. You really had him worried. You'll have to ask the judge about it some day, but for now get going, I must go, Mark. I'm sorry, I don't have a choice."

Mark climbed out of the car and watched as it took off down the street. Mark walked into the convenience store and asked where the pay phone was.

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The judge's truck came squealing into the lot of the convenience store. It didn't even appear that the truck had come to a full stop as Hardcastle jumped from the interior. He caught Mark, and held him at arms length, searching him from head to foot for any visible injuries.

"You're okay, right? Did they hurt you? Do you need to go to a hospital?" Hardcastle questioned quickly.

"Yes, no, and no," Mark answered. "Judge I'm fine, okay, just take me home," as he started walking toward the truck.

"McCormick, damn it, are you sure you're okay?" shouted the judge.

"Yes, Judge, I'm fine, now please take me home," Mark insisted.

Hardcastle jumped behind the wheel of the truck. He watched as Mark leaned his head back against the window and promptly went to sleep.

_Well some things never change, _he thought, smiling to himself. _Thank you, Patsy Martinelli, for bringing him home in one piece. I wasn't sure that you could pull that one off. I just might make sure that we get to go on a vacation soon, and we just might end up on the Isle de San Pietro. _

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Hardcastle really wasn't surprised to see Frank's car waiting for them, when he pulled into the driveway, however the other nondescript police car, spelled FBI.

Mark looked up and moaned, "Aw, not again."

"Hang in there, kiddo, we'll get past this," Hardcastle muttered softly as he climbed out of the pickup.

Frank walked over to Hardcastle asking, "Is he okay?"

Hardcastle then realized that McCormick was still sitting in the truck, his head slumped forward in his hands.

"Yeah, just leave him alone for a while, he'll be okay," Hardcastle explained to Frank, as Agent Morris walked over to them.

"Looks like he's been through the wringer," Agent Morris observed.

"Agent Morris, may I ask why you are here, again?" Hardcastle questioned gruffly through clenched teeth.

"You know why I'm here, and please don't tell me that Mr. McCormick here was on a vacation in the Bahamas. 'Cause if he was, he sure lost his tan quickly," Morris countered.

Mark slowly sat up straight in the truck, looked back at the men who were observing him closely. He flexed his shoulders and then painstakingly climbed from the pickup, seemed to hesitate a second, while he sucked in a deep breath, and gathered himself after closing the door to the pickup. He then turned and faced the three waiting men.

"Agent Morris, I can't say that I am glad, nor actually surprised to see you. However, I can tell you that you are currently trespassing on private property, and unless you have a warrant, I suggest you leave immediately," he harshly spat out.

"Mr. McCormick, I am here to investigate a crime, as you well know, your kidnapping," he retorted.

"No, Agent Morris, you were the cause of my kidnapping. Now I expect you to be leaving immediately," McCormick snapped.

"How was I responsible for your kidnapping?" the Agent asked, stunned.

"You made my connection to Patsy Martinelli known, the reason for my kidnapping, as you put it, was to actually protect me, from the real kidnappers that were hoping to get me to reveal something, anything, about my client," he sucked in another deep breath and continued.

"Now, since I am not pressing any charges against anybody except maybe YOU, I would suggest that your presence here becomes a thing of the past, before I become irritated enough to call the Federal Prosecutor's office and request an investigation into the improprieties that you and your office have created here. And by the way, I would suggest that the illegal phone taps that you have on the phones here at Judge Hardcastle's estate be removed immediately, before I add that to my ever growing list," Mark's voice had been rising with the increasing stress, finally he turned and strode towards the house.

"Agent Morris, I think he's right; I think you'd better leave while I can still keep him under control," the judge calmly added.

Agent Morris angrily returned to his car and spun from the driveway.

Hardcastle and Frank followed Mark into the house to find him in the kitchen, chugging a bottle of beer.

He looked up wiped his mouth with the back of his wrist and asked, "Did he leave? Please, tell me that he left."

"Yeah, I think you scared the crap out of him," Frank answered. He reached over grabbed one of Mark's wrists and held it up for inspection, the rope burn showing prominently.

"They aren't too bad, the ankle's worse," Mark shrugged, "and the neck," as he pulled his t-shirt down to show the raw rope burn.

"God, why didn't you say something, I asked if you needed to go to the hospital when I picked you up," Hardcastle shouted.

"Judge, I don't need a hospital, just a little antibiotic cream and a few bandages," Mark explained.

"And these were the guys that were trying to protect you, for God's sake?" Hardcastle yelled.

"Yeah, would've hated to see the other guys get a hold of me . . . probably be dead by now," Mark murmured. "But hey that's all in the past, Uncle Pat made sure of that before he left," he added, watching the realization dawn Frank's face.

Hardcastle who had been standing there immobile finally spoke, "Well I think we got some antibiotic ointment and some bandages upstairs; I'll go get them."

"Maybe, I shouldn't put you in the middle here, Frank," Mark stammered.

"I didn't hear anything. He is your client, Mark, and any information is attorney client privileged, and would be received while you are under duress, as you know as well as I that it would be illegally obtained and inadmissible in court. Just don't tell me anymore about that part. Now are you okay?"

"Yeah, just a little shaky, wasn't sure, really . . . how this all was gonna work out, ya' know," again Mark's voice faded off as he studied the beer bottle in his hand.

Hardcastle returned to the kitchen carrying the medical supplies. "I called Dr. Friedman; he's on his way over now, so just relax until he gets here."

"Judge, I don't need a doctor," Mark protested.

"He's already on his way and I want to make sure that you're okay, no arguments," he ordered gruffly. "Now let me see all the damage," he ordered, as he pushed Mark into a chair. "And I'm gonna get you something to eat, it looks like you lost weight, as well as your tan; you look like a ghost," Hardcastle grumbled, leaving no opening for any type of protest.

"It's not that bad really, the ankle's chafed pretty good, but I already got it bandaged," McCormick offered to Hardcastle's back, as he was already removing enough food for an army from the refrigerator and placing it on the counter.

They were interrupted by the front door bell.

"Hey ,Milt, I'm gonna let the doctor in, be right back," Frank called as he left the room.

Frank returned with Dr. Friedman in tow. Dr. Friedman immediately went to work examining Mark, while motioning the other two men from the room.

In the den, Hardcastle paced the floor like an expectant father.

"Jesus, Milt, you're gonna wear a hole in your floor, if you don't relax; Mark's fine."

"I know, it's just . . . I really could've lost him this time, ya' know," Hardcastle revealed somberly.

"You ever let him know, that you care this much?" Frank questioned.

"Don't even start with me, you always did coddle him," Hardcastle grumbled.

"I just think you need to show him that you actually do care what happens to him," Frank offered.

"He's living here ain't he?" Hardcastle growled.

"Yeah and you constantly remind him, whose house it is, and who pays the bills, actually throwing it in his face, would be more accurate," Frank pointed out.

"Well, don't I?" Hardcastle gruffly demanded.

"Forget it, Milt, you'll just never get it," Frank answered reluctantly, resigning himself to defeat.

"Now what's that supposed to mean? Throw it his face, do I?" Hardcastle snapped

"Forget it."

Hardcastle shouted, "No I won't damn it . . ."

Dr. Friedman opened the door to the kitchen, cutting Hardcastle off. Both men re-entered the kitchen finding Mark chewing on a cookie.

"I bandaged both wrists and his right ankle, which, by the way, looks like a dog chewed on it. Although, he attempted a story about tripping in the woods," Dr Friedman offered as he rolled his eyes, indicating his disbelief.

"Just make sure that he keeps the areas clean, wash them with soap and water at least twice a day and apply the antibiotic ointment four times a day. Keep those areas bandaged, and I'll come back and check on him in two days. The antibiotic," Dr. Friedman shook the pill bottle for emphasis, "he takes four times a day, with milk or food, as they're hard on the stomach. I would suggest that he stays off the foot for a few days, but I would probably have to sedate him to get that to happen, but I can always hope. Any problems give me a call . . . Any questions?" he asked looking at all three.

As they all indicated no by shaking their heads, Dr. Friedman nodded, "Okay, see you in two days; remember to call if there is a problem."

"Thank you, Dr. Friedman, I'm sorry you had to run out here," Mark acknowledged his inconvenience.

Hardcastle returned to the kitchen after seeing the Doctor out, he and Frank exchanged a look of indecision.

"Well, Mark, I just wanted to make sure that you were okay, you know . . . I'm always available if you want someone to talk to," he added as he gripped Mark's shoulder. "Well, I'd better get back to the office or the city will think they're paying me to goof around all day."

"Thanks, Frank," Mark answered, not meeting his eyes.

Mark slunk out the back door, as soon as Hardcastle and Frank left the kitchen, avoiding both of them out in front of the house; he made it quietly to the gatehouse.

He slowly limped up the steps to the loft, turned on his small TV set and gingerly relaxed on the bed. The local news announcer droned on, giving the weather forecast for the next day.

When Hardcastle returned to the kitchen and found Mark gone, "You ain't getting away that easily," he muttered as he stalked out to the gatehouse.

Bursting through the door without knocking, Hardcastle shouted, "McCormick!"


	8. Chapter 8

Mark flinched as heard the judge enter the gatehouse yelling.

"Yeah . . . I'm up here," he supplied reluctantly. He was really hoping the judge would let it go for the day and allow him to get some rest. He just wanted to postpone the inevitable lecture for a time when he was more able to deal with it.

"We need to talk about this, now," Hardcase ordered as he stomped up the steps to the loft. Mark sat on his bed, his pant leg pulled up exposing the damaged ankle.

"Judge, can we . . . "

"No, damn it, I want to get something straight right now . . . I don't think contact with Martinelli is a good idea anymore. It just caused . . . more problems, enough is enough. You got hurt this time, and there's not gonna be a next time, right?" Hardcase ordered loudly.

"Hardcase, come on, he's my uncle. He got me out of this mess," Mark almost pleaded.

"He's the one who got you into the mess in the first place, and he could've gotten you killed," came Hardcastle's harsh and scathing reply.

"The FBI were the ones who made me a target," McCormick balked.

"Now come on, McCormick, even you don't buy that one, and don't expect me to. The man is a gangster, a mafia boss, and when you are around him, then you will become a target," Hardcastle grumbled.

"And he's always gonna be my uncle, Judge," Mark continued. "I know you're not real thrilled me with me right now, and I'm sorry. I never wanted to disappoint you, but you've just got to understand . . ." Mark's voice faded out.

An uneasy silence hung in the room. Mark stared down at the bandage on his ankle. Hardcastle silently appraised him, seeing only regret and frustration, not defiance. McCormick was attempting to be open and honest with him, but at the same time was trying to limit the amount of pain he was causing himself. He always was adept at hiding his feelings, never one to admit them, even to his friend.

"Look, McCormick, I know he's your uncle but . . . I just don't see anything good coming to you from this relationship," Hardcastle's gruff tone rising with his frustration, "You don't even really know this guy. And you have worked so hard to get where you're at, why throw it all away, now?"

At this last comment, Mark's head jerked up, Hardcastle saw a brief flash of hurt in his eyes. But it was gone so quickly, was it really there in the first place, or was it imagined?

"You don't know anything about the guy, but that he is a killer; I'm sure you figured that part out," Hardcastle insisted.

Mark swallowed hard and looked at him silently.

"See, you're not even trying to defend him. The guy will drag you down with him, without a second thought," Hardcase shouted, keeping the pressure applied. Mark glanced away from Hardcastle's intense gaze, and then again allowed their eyes to meet.

"Or maybe he already has you in his pocket, maybe he's already gotten you to do something illegal. Or are you just waiting to do his bidding?" Hardcastle continued shouting.

"Judge, come on, you don't need to get nasty here, you know better than that," McCormick pleaded.

"Well, I thought I knew, now I'm not too sure," Hardcastle countered.

That statement finally severed a nerve.

"Fine, if that's really how you feel, you want me out, I'll move out. After all, I'm just sponging off of you anyway, right? Isn't that what some of your friends have been telling you for years? That I'm just sticking around to see what I can get out of you? I'll be out of here tomorrow. I wouldn't want you to keep my lazy, ungrateful butt any longer that necessary. Anyway, the slave labor clause of our relationship ended a long time ago. You got your kudos from the parole board for straightening me out and reforming my thieving ways," Mark exploded.

Trying to get away from the judge Mark jumped off the bed to his feet, his already weakened ankle gave way almost immediately.

Only Hardcastle's quick reaction kept him from falling. McCormick glared at Hardcastle, who slowly released his grip on his arm. McCormick wavered, a sheen sweat showing the effort it was taking for him to remain standing.

"You always were a king sized donkey, you know that," McCormick muttered through clenched teeth while trying to keep himself from passing out.

The news reporter interrupted the rest of their argument, with a late breaking special news segment. Reporting that an explosion downtown had destroyed a car, in the 600 block of Sycamore Street, in the area of Sammy's Restaurant, killing Salvatore Reese, a renowned mafia boss, and several unnamed associates, police were cordoning off the entire block, no suspects were being identified at this time but the investigation was under way. A jumpy, slightly out of focus video of the still smoldering automobile was shown. Anyone with information was advised to contact the police department. Vehicular traffic was advised to avoid the area, if at all possible.

"Oh my God, that was payback for them kidnapping me . . ." Mark whispered, his stomach clenched like a vise, as he slumped back onto his bed.

"None of this is your fault, you can't blame yourself for this mess, these guys were gonna take each other out no matter what. They were just jockeying for position, you had nothing to do with it," Hardcastle explained.

One glance at Mark's body language told Hardcastle that he was at his limit; he was on the verge of a break down, he needed to rest and recuperate or he was going to land himself in the hospital or worse.

"All right, enough . . . you need to get some rest, stay in bed now . . . This is just too raw a subject for both of us and we're both saying things that we really don't feel or mean, so we're gonna table the discussion for now . . ." Hardcastle softly offered. "Is there anything I can get you, anything you need?"

Not trusting himself to answer, Mark just shook his head.

_Discussion. . . yeah, I'll bet . . . another lecture. He's just being a donkey as usual. And I'll probably never live down the fact that I just argued back, great, another one of his famous lessons / lectures. Again! I just can't deal with any more right now; I just want it all to go away. _

The judge had left McCormick to his thoughts for the rest of the day, only interrupting to bring him some food for lunch and dinner, insisting that he stay off his ankle and to give himself some time to heal. Sleep became Mark's welcome friend; it was the only time that he seemed at peace.

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The next morning, Mark had awakened early, but had stayed in bed contemplating how he should approach the judge, knowing that they had to discuss this situation and come to some type of mutual understanding. Looking over at his alarm clock he was stunned, he had lain there mulling it over for four hours. The real surprise was that the judge had not woken him with his usual basketball routine at six o'clock. Slowly sliding out of bed and gingerly placing some weight on his sore ankle, he limped over to the bathroom.

Mark practiced in his head the different opening lines he had thought of to use on Hardcastle. However, he quickly realized that none of the well thought out openers were good enough for Hardcase Hardcastle. After his shower, he applied the antibiotic ointment as Dr. Friedman had recommended, and re-bandaged his ankle and wrists.

He limped into the kitchen, gathered some breakfast together, and headed into the den. Hardcastle was sitting behind his desk studying a file. McCormick sat down in the chair in front of the desk and pushed the food around on his plate. Hardcastle stole several quick glances at McCormick, mulling over how to approach him about his uncle without inciting another shouting match. After several minutes of silence, they both started to speak at the same time.

"You go ahead," McCormick conceded.

"No, you start," Hardcastle motioned with his hands

After several more moments of silence, they both again tried to start speaking simultaneously, Mark and the judge both gave a slight nervous laugh.

Finally, Mark said, "Judge, I know you are not thrilled with me contacting Pat, but . . ."

"That is what scares me, you are going to jump and do anything for someone you don't really know, just because they are a relative, you don't owe anybody anything," the judge exclaimed.

"That's where you're very, very, wrong, Judge, I owe you . . . more than I can ever repay. I wanted to be able to keep in loose contact with Pat . . . but I want you to be comfortable with that. If you can't, then I guess . . . I can live with that, you have hauled my butt out of prison, paid for my law school, so I guess I owe you the benefit of the doubt . . . " he allowed his voice to fade out.

"Okay, don't start that injured party crap on me. You know that it doesn't work with me," Hardcastle growled. "And besides, you don't owe me anything, you earned it," he continued studying McCormick as he spoke.

"Okay, how about a compromise? How about we take a vacation? We both could use it, and hey, if we happen to stumble upon Pat, maybe it would give me a chance to get to know him, then maybe we could finish this conversation, or maybe just let things as they are. Just give me a few days to set up and finish the details. You can make your own decisions. I may not agree with them, but we both need to realize that this is a partnership."

The rest of the day went slightly smoother. Hardcastle was still harping on McCormick to stay off his injured ankle, but they seemed to come to a mutual agreement of avoiding the subject that held them at an impasse.

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McCormick woke to the sound of Hardcastle's gruff voice growling his name. He rolled over onto his side, trying to bury his head under the pillow.

"McCormick!" Hardcastle yelled; his voice now came from inside the gatehouse.

"Aw, Judge, it's way too early for this," Mark whined.

"We need to get your butt down to the courthouse, now move it, or I'll throw out your breakfast," Hardcastle threatened, as he made for the door. "Oh, by the way, I left a cane down here; it should help you to get around a little easier."

Mark limped his way down the steps to find a tray on the table in the living room. He realized how hungry he was, as he wolfed down the breakfast.

Limping back up the stairs, he began to get dressed. He thought about why they would have to go to the courthouse, certainly Hardcastle had placed all their cases on hold while he was missing. Obviously, he was taking too long to get ready as he heard the truck start, "McCormick, get your butt out here now! We are gonna be late."

"Hold your horses, Kemosabe!" he balked in return.

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At the courthouse, Hardcastle ushered his limping protégé through the winding throng of people.

"Judge, can't you tell me why we are at the courthouse? You keep telling me that it isn't a trial of ours, so why are we here?" McCormick questioned. As he noticed that Hardcastle was leading him into one of the court rooms.

"Did you forget that you still owe Judge Hamilton an apology for not showing up for that hearing? Or are you willing to sit your butt in jail for awhile?"

"But, Judge, for Chrissake, I was kidnapped. Certainly he's not gonna hold that one over my head, is he?" McCormick pondered.

"Well, nice of you to grace us with your presence, Mr. McCormick! I believe that there is an outstanding bench warrant, that I issued for your arrest, for a contempt of court charge; Bailiff, get your handcuffs ready," boomed the honorable Judge Hamilton's voice. "I am so glad to see that you have come into open court to settle my curiosity, or even better yet, to surrender yourself into my custody. This had better be really good, Mr. McCormick!" his voice turned sugary sweet, as he grinned from ear-to-ear.

McCormick actually shivered, as a chill ran down the length of his spine, and he broke out into a clammy sweat, as he faced Judge Hamilton.

_Oh shit! I may end up a prisoner anyway, and for something I had absolutely no control over. Okay, stay calm and think like a lawyer; give him an answer he'll never forget. You've tiptoed past mafia hoodlums and the FBI this week, so a judge should be a piece of cake! _

"Judge Hamilton," Mark flashed one of his most engaging smiles as he addressed him, "I truly apologize for missing court . . . to explain my absence, Your Honor . . . It was quite beyond my control . . . you see, it all started like this . . .

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--- Ha Ha, Sorry I couldn't resist ending it like that again, okay scream at me I deserve it.

I received a great deal of help with the location of Pat's Island (actually we had a vote on it, which turned into a lot of fun-thank you to everyone at Gullsway) and some other really great help (thank you, thank you!) but it actually gave me another story line, I just couldn't seemed to get the two separate stories to fit together in my mind (sorry can't help it I'm certifiable) sooooooo –

And now on to Part III and another adventure with Auggie, Hardcastle, McCormick, and of course Uncle Pat (maybe I'll take Katrina along too). What kind of trouble are these guys going to find this time?

Please email me with constructive cristism, comments, and ideas. I am trying to learn.

Thank you for reading,

Lyn


End file.
